


Goals AF

by ClaroQueQuiza



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Developing Friendships, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Slice of Life, Training, day in the life, i guess, i just wanted to see if I could do it, nothing happens, portal reference too i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-16 13:08:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8103622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaroQueQuiza/pseuds/ClaroQueQuiza
Summary: Just a day in the life of Hanzo and McCree, along with an idea supplied by Symmetra.Nothing really happens, but there's a Portal reference...?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is the first thing I've written in years. It's mainly an experimental piece to test some stuff, feel out the characters, and see if it's still as fun to write fanfic as it is to read (it is). I'm brand new to AO3 and to the Overwatch fandom, so any advice and CC is overwhelmingly welcome. Thank you for reading! Don't do anything I would do!

Hanzo swore under his breath as the sharp pain jabbed into his abdomen. He skidded to a stop, the swearing now interspersed with dry coughs as he fought to catch his breath. He had been running as fast as he could for cover, trying to avoid the volley of shots that came after him as a group of training bots rounded the corner in front of the objective he had been attempting to capture. The darts were electrified to leave no doubt of a hit on the softer, squishier agents of Overwatch, the electric shock an especially unwelcome sensation after such a long day of training.

 

Hanzo was exhausted. This particular simulation was Athena’s way to force Hanzo to adopt a melee fighting style instead of his usual sniper tactics. The hard light virtual buildings were all slick as glass and unyielding as steel, preventing him from finding a good vantage point. Instead, he had been running back and forth like a fool, alternating between taking potshots from 3 meters or less and bashing bots over the head with Storm Bow like a demented baseball player. This simulation was but the latest in a series of almost tortuous programs that threatened to make him pass out on the floor. His hand tightened around Storm Bow, and he could feel the tension shoot pain up and down his fingers, palm, and forearm. His coughing fit finally ended and he turned and started to make his way back to the starting point for another run.

 

“Training Bot 14 eliminated Agent Hanzo,” intoned Athena from overhead, and Hanzo gritted his teeth and pressed his lips into a straight line as he heard electronic voices behind him cheer and congratulate Bot 14. Such inane chatter was unnecessary at the best of times. After five failed runs in a row, it was grating.

 

“Well, waddaya know. Add Bot 14 to the Hotshot Hall of Fame for takin’ down our legendary assassin!”

 

Hanzo’s eyes narrowed, but he refused to so much as glance at the serape-bedecked figure on the high catwalk overlooking the training range. McCree’s commentary was as unnecessary as the bots’. He tried to concentrate on the sounds of his teammates continuing the simulation, instead, trying to pinpoint where they were so he could join them when he was allowed back out. The starting area was directly below the catwalk. Hanzo stalked across the yellow line, turned, and waited, ignoring McCree’s presence above and to his right.

 

“Oh come on, darlin’, don’t be that way. Some of us gotta deal with these grunts on their level every day, y’know!” Jesse called, a grin on his stupid, handsome face. “It ain’t that hard. You just gotta figure out a workaround for when things go south, something that will really knock ‘em flat on their metallic asses. You do it to Genji all the time!” Hanzo continued to ignore him. Pet names and ribbing weren’t getting his boyfriend anywhere today, especially since he had a big chunk of responsibility for this whole mess.

 

He was almost immediately joined by Satya Vaswani, who wore an expression nearly identical to his own. The slick hard light simulations were severely hampering her ability to place torrents, and she was about as thrown out of her element as Hanzo was. McCree tried to egg her on with his peculiar form of encouragement, throwing out suggestions ranging from “borrowing Torbjörn’s turret kit” to “Just throw ‘em. Throw the turrets at ‘em. Waddaya got to lose?” Vaswani paid as much attention as Hanzo did. Minimal attention.

 

The countdown for their reentry was nearly complete when Vaswani suddenly cleared her throat. “Agent Hanzo, I believe I may be able to aid you.”

 

Hanzo blinked as he looked at her. They worked well enough together both in simulations and in the field, but she had never approached him in quite so direct a matter. “How so?” he asked with a detached tone.

 

“You are the team member who is most disadvantaged by this simulation. It is addressing your weakest side, and though it may be prudent to become less vulnerable in close combat, I believe this will be the last training run for the day, and I would like it to end as soon as may be. Therefore, I would like to return you to a position where you will be at your most useful. As Agent McCree said just now, it is time for a workaround.”

 

Hanzo could not help but bristle slightly. He wanted to point out that she had suffered only one less elimination than he had by his count, but the prospect of ending the simulation a little sooner covered his wounded pride. He forced himself to speak evenly when he replied. “What is your idea?”

 

-_-_-_-

 

McCree couldn’t help but wonder at the sight of Hanzo and Vaswani speaking, voices low, close together, almost as if they were scheming. Their expressions revealed nothing but concentration and, as the short conversation drew to a close with a small nod each, determination. Hanzo’s countdown completed with a small _ding_ ringing from the loudspeaker on the wall, but he didn’t go out into the simulation. Instead, he turned and walked out of view underneath the catwalk. McCree would have turned to follow him with his gaze, but he almost immediately picked up on the soft metallic rattling that announced Hanzo marching up the stairs to the catwalk.

 

“Now what in blue blazes-” he murmured to himself. A second _ding_ sounded, and Vaswani immediately headed out. She quickly disappeared from sight, and McCree lifted his eyes to the bank of projected monitors showing the feeds from the observer drones. She looked like a woman on a mission.

 

Hanzo, meanwhile, had reached the catwalk and was striding purposefully towards McCree. McCree couldn’t help but smile. “Miss me, sugarpea?” He grinned at the former ronin, turning in place and lounging gracelessly against the handrail, hat angled over his eyes, serape fluttering slightly in what was clearly meant to be a roguish pose. “No matter how much y’did, honey, you gotta get on back and fight the good fight. Gotta couple more bots with stars in their eyes looking to make it to the big leagues.” He glanced up at Hanzo as he approached, making a finger gun with his hand pointed at his chest. Hanzo strode past him without even so much as a glance. McCree frowned as he followed him with his eyes. “Whoa there! Where d’you-” And then, as tended to happen around Hanzo, several alarming things happened.

 

A flash of blue light erupted in the starting area below them. Without hesitation, Hanzo leapt over the handrail and fell like a meteor, Storm Bow clutched in his hands and golden hair ribbon streaming behind him. McCree let out a yell, swirling around so fast his serape flew up and smacked him in the face. He clawed it out of his way, ears straining to hear, at best, a heavy grunt as Hanzo hit the ground and, at worst, the sickening wet crack of shattered bone.

 

Neither came. For a split second McCree stared into the nearly blinding blue-white mouth of the Vishkar teleporter terminus that sat in the starting area. Then his eyes were drawn to the monitors. By sheer luck, he managed to focus on the monitor that showed a smug looking Satya Vaswani standing next to the strangest teleporter he’d seen her construct, looking like an upright metal donut with the terminus sticking at nearly a right angle parallel to the ground. And out erupted Shimada Hanzo, bursting out at incredible speed and sent nearly five meters into the air--

 

\--in a graceful arc--

 

\--onto a hitherto inaccessible rooftop. Hanzo twisted like a falling cat, landing almost perfectly with only a short skidding motion as his prosthetics’ feet gained purchase on the slippery hard light construction. Then, without a moment’s hesitation, he drew, nocked, and fired arrow after arrow after arrow. McCree didn’t need to look at the other monitors to know that the exercise would soon be over.

 

It had all happened in four seconds.

 

McCree took off his hat and placed it over his heart. He let out a low whistle. “Just gotta figure out a workaround,” he mumbled quietly to himself.

 

_-_-_-_

 

There was never much promise in walking towards the mess hall when the noise therein was audible all the way from the training rooms, but it had been a long day and Shimada Hanzo needed food far more than non-ringing ears. After the disaster that had been Eichenwalde, drills and training programs that threatened to violate the Geneva Convention had been the norm, with little time for recovery or even to catch one’s breath. Jack Morrison had taken the unusual step of including Genji and Jesse McCree in the committee that designed the new regimen, and fond memories of the Shimada Castle dojo and Blackwatch’s “Field and Urban Center Kinetic Intensive Nullification/Heuristic Evaluation amid Live Locales” elite training program had apparently been quite inspirational.

 

Hanzo had never been one to avoid intensive training; indeed, over the years he had given and been given difficult and strenuous regimens with equal philosophy, seeing the value of the work itself and anticipating the results. But now he was on the very tail-end of being a young man, and muscles and joints that once bounced back from a workout seemingly overnight now protested at the heavy and seemingly endless load he placed on them. The only saving grace of the regimen was its insistence on adequate nutrition, “adequate” meaning “as much as necessary so long as you’re back on the range tomorrow morning.”

 

The supply runs into town had doubled in frequency to keep up with the demand.

 

Tonight was no exception. As Hanzo numbly trudged as silently as possible towards the rumbles and shouts coming from the mess hall, he tried to remember if there had ever been a day in his life when he had been more fatigued or more hungry. Even the grueling days in the Shimada Castle dojo did not seem to compare as his mind struggled through foggy memories. Perhaps when (or if) he was properly rested he would recall some _sensei_ that pushed him harder than a grim Morrison and a practically gleeful McCree were now, but he doubted it. Then, as now, however, the siren song of food was the greatest potential source of comfort at the end of the day, and nothing and no one would come in between Shimada Hanzo and as much oden as he could eat without vomiting.

 

He did possess enough energy to draw himself up a little straighter and taller and assume a more alert expression when he finally pushed open the mess hall door. He had learned long ago that weakness invited attack, and he was in no mood for even the friendly ribbing he would receive from his teammates if they sensed they may escape his usual biting wit.

 

Inside was bedlam. Nearly every agent was there, and the mess hall that was two times bigger than necessary did absolutely nothing to dispel the crowded, rowdy feel of the room. One side-effect of the new regimen was it made the whole team so ravenous that everyone headed straight to meals during each break and meal time. Some, Hanzo included, had tried to store some easy to prepare meals in their quarters, but the small accommodations had started to look like warehouses with the sheer volume of foodstuffs necessary to keep up with their physical activity. And there were other considerations. Vermin had always been a constant in the still half-abandoned Watchpoint, and they needed little temptation to come into the inhabited sections.

 

The day Vaswani had found a specimen of _Rodentia_ the size of her forearm munching on freeze-dried uttapam in her quarters had convinced even her that the mess hall was the better alternative.

 

Hanzo nodded to her as she sat stiffly on the edge of the rampaging crowd, desperately trying to lose herself in some document projected from her highly technical prosthetic. Lately she had been fairly successful in getting to the mess hall’s kitchenette before anyone else, even after a general appeal to ban her from using the teleporter, and today was no exception. She more than anyone needed a clean space to prepare her meals in and extra time to eat it while so ruffled by the chaotic conversations and roughhousing around her. The threat of crumbs attracting more pests was the only thing preventing her from eating in her quarters.

 

Hanzo stopped for a moment a respectful distance away and cleared his throat. Vaswani glanced up. She looked strained, but she was already showing a marked improvement from the first two weeks of the regimen when the dark circles under her eyes had evoked comparisons to the _tanuki_ by his brother. When she were out of earshot, of course.

 

“I wish to congratulate you on your unorthodox solution, Ms. Vaswani. It was quite unexpected.” Indeed it had been. Lena and Lúcio had been part of the training run, and they were excitable in the most mundane situations. This latest trick had nearly caused them to, how did they put it? ‘Lose their mcfreakin’ minds’, among other phrases and juvenile jargon. Vaswani had escaped to the mess hall before she had to suffer through most of their jubilation. Hanzo was spared much of it as well, because as ‘sick’ as it had been, it was not enough to make them forget the prospect of pork sandwiches.

 

Vaswani, for her part, slightly inclined her head as she accepted the compliment. “I am happy to help a teammate, especially when the solution is so elegant.” Hanzo bowed his head slightly in return and would have moved towards the kitchenette, where he saw McCree waving at him, but Vaswani continued. “However, I cannot claim sole credit for its formulation. I derived inspiration from a video game. I have been wishing to implement it for some time, but there was no opportunity with any agent with the relevant skillset until 44 minutes ago.”

 

Hanzo knitted his eyebrows together. “A video game?” Vaswani did not seem the sort of person who would enjoy video games.

 

“Yes. Ms. Song was reviewing a compendium of internet trends, and included was a description of a video game that was popular sixty-seven years ago. It prominently features teleportation technology, so I reviewed it. Most of the technology is, unsurprisingly, portrayed inaccurately, but it did correctly predict that directionality is not preserved while traveling through the teleporter, thus it had real world applications.”

 

“I see.” Hanzo half-saw, but he believed it was enough. Suddenly, his stomach rumbled loudly. Vaswani raised an eyebrow.

 

“Forgive me. You must eat.”

 

Hanzo nodded. He carefully picked his way through the crowd, making for the kitchenette. It was evident that everyone was exhausted, as they had been for weeks, but it was fascinating to see how each person reacted. Some, like Amari, attempted to conserve as much energy as possible by moving less. She sat next to Reinhardt, an already empty plate in front of her and hands wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee, still as a statue. Reinhardt, on the other hand, moved as much as usual, but with much less coordination. As he walked past, Hanzo had to duck and weave to avoid being hit as the booming man flailed his arms in the middle of recounting an epic tale of adventure. Both, however, were still up and alert after having pulled their weight alongside their much younger compatriots. Hanzo was not the only one marvelling at their stamina. He could see the “kids” glancing over at them from their table as they mouthily complained about the training and openly wondered how the veterans did it.

 

He finally made it to the kitchenette. McCree was facing away from him, bent over the stove, stirring something. Hanzo sniffed the air. “What are you making?”

 

“Something simple, but filling,” McCree hummed without turning around. “Spaghetti with hamburger meat sauce. Made enough for you, too, darlin’, if you want some.”

 

Hanzo considered. He had been craving something more Japanese for a couple of days, and today’s finale had left him elated and wanting to indulge himself more than ever. But now that he was here looking at his man stirring cooked hamburger into tomato sauce with the spaghetti already boiling to the side, all he wanted was to eat. He stepped to McCree’s side and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Spaghetti sounds delicious.”

 

“It’s even the whole wheat. I know you like t’be healthy.”

 

“Hmm. Someone already ate the regular kind?”

 

“Never could pull the wool over yer eyes, darlin’,” said McCree, smiling, his eyes soft and brown. “You go along and set yourself down. It’s about done. I’ll bring it over.” Hanzo squeezed his shoulder and turned away to find a seat. As soon as she caught his eye, Lena waved him over, pointing at two empty chairs at her table along with the rest of the ‘kids’. Genji was at the same table, engrossed in conversation with Lúcio and Hana. Hanzo considered for a moment, then mentally shrugged his shoulders. He did sit with an empty chair between him and Lena, because he knew-

 

“Wotcher, Hanzo! How’s the acrobat?” Lena shouted. The more tired she was, the louder she became. “Trying to outdo me, are you?”

 

Hanzo tried not to lean away. “Not at all. I merely wished to use my bow as a bow, not a club.”

 

“What you need is a warhammer, my friend!” boomed Reinhardt from two tables over. “One Rocket Hammer in your hands, and you will never pick up a bow again!”

 

“I’m afraid Hanzo has loftier ambitions,” said Genji from his end of the table. “If you gave him a hammer, he would still find a way to the rooftops so he could drop it on his enemies’ heads.”

 

“Well, luckily our very own Symmetra has solved that problem for him, so long as the hammer’s already high up,” chuckled McCree as he arrived with two plates heaped with brown spaghetti smothered in meat sauce, sitting down between Hanzo and Lena. “‘Bout gave me a heart attack when he leapt off that catwalk. Thought I’d finally driven someone to the edge with FUCKIN/HELL.”

 

Hanzo rolled his eyes as he took a fork from the pants pocket McCree had stashed them in. He half-suspected McCree had revived the training regimen purely for the contrived acronym. Gabriel Reyes had thought it up years ago to needle the bureaucrats at Overwatch and the UN. He glanced over to where Vaswani had been sitting. She was gone, meal finished and, perhaps, with no more tolerance for her teammates that evening.

 

“Well talk about amazing!” exclaimed Lúcio. “Half because it was just a plain insane idea and half because she actually convinced Hanzo to do it! Dude, you really will do anything to get on a roof, won’t you?”

 

It took a moment for Hanzo to reply. Now that food was in his grasp, he was ravenous. “She is nothing if not professional. She would not have suggested it if she were not certain it would work.”

 

“Well, I’m a little jealous that she trusts you to do that!” Lúcio pouted a little. “I mean, me and her got a bad history, but man. If she asked me to do that, I sure as hell wouldn’t say no!”

 

“I’d do it!” said Lena. “I’d be super fancy, too. Flips and everything.”

 

“I apologize for my underwhelming performance,” said Hanzo drily. He felt a warm weight settle on his shoulders. McCree had wrapped his right arm around his soldiers.

 

“More than enough to impress me, darlin’. Pretty damn spectacular to tell the truth.” Hanzo felt his lips quirk up.

 

Down the table, Hana suddenly looked up from her phone. “Well, you know where Symmetra got the idea from, though? She got it from me!”

 

“From an internet trend list, correct?” said Hanzo.

 

“Well, yeah, but I was telling her about it. It was a list of old memes by decade. You old men remember ‘Fall 10th’? Apparently you guys couldn’t get enough of it in the 50’s.”

 

McCree shifted uncomfortably and made a noncommittal noise. Hanzo did not do anything besides chew.

 

Hana stared at them for a moment before picking the conversation back up. “Anyway, back in the 2000’s there was something about ‘the cake is a lie’. Weird, right? It came from a video game about portals that are basically the same as Symmetra's, so I told her about it.” She paused for a moment. “I kinda wish I hadn’t. The next day she came up to me and listed off everything they did wrong. They made it, like, 30 years before there even _were_ teleporters! Why does she expect them to do?!”

 

“But then she made Hanzo jump off a catwalk and fly onto a building!” Lúcio cut in.

 

Hana considered and nodded. “Totally worth it.”

 

Hanzo shook his head slightly. “I am happy to have helped.”

 

Lúcio then demanded to see the list, which worked its way backwards to older and older memes. Hanzo continued to eat, enjoying the feeling of McCree’s arm over his shoulders. Both men dug into their meal, half-listening to the peals of laughter coming from their teammates. Hanzo finished first, even trailing his finger around the edge of the plate and licking tomato sauce off. McCree surreptitiously squeezed his shoulder. Hanzo merely smiled.

 

“Wait, what’s that say? ‘Goals AF’? What the hell does that mean?”

 

Hana’s thumbs worked her phone furiously to answer Lena’s question.

 

“Um...so, like, if you see an old couple that’re all lovey-dovey, you’d say that they’re ‘Goals AF’. You could say it for weirder stuff, too, like if there were a guy who’s into cheese or something but you are, too, so it’s ok.”

 

“What.”

 

Hanzo glanced over at McCree. McCree caught it and smiled back. “You alright with your cheese man, darlin’?”

 

Hanzo pretended to seriously consider the question. McCree just looked at him, smiling, unperturbed. Finally Hanzo answered, “Goals AF.” McCree chuckled and leaned in for a kiss.


End file.
